


Thunderstruck

by ectoviolet



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon)
Genre: Airplane Crash, Double-O-Duck, First Kiss, M/M, S.H.U.S.H., canoodling on the job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15974267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectoviolet/pseuds/ectoviolet
Summary: When Darkwing and Launchpad crash in the Russian Ural Mountains, there's nothing left to do but wait for help to come.





	Thunderstruck

Looking at the wreckage of the Thunderquack, a strange mixture of panic and relief washed over Darkwing Duck. Panic, because they should have been killed, or at the very least horribly injured. Relief, of course, because they hadn’t. Sure, Drake felt a little bruised, maybe even a bit concussed, but he’d faced far worse before.

Launchpad sat back on a snowdrift, his gaze fixed on the remnants of his beloved jet. His breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts, evidenced by the clouds of vapour drifting from his beak.

Darkwing took a step toward him. “L.P.?” 

“I’m okay,” he said quietly. “I--” He rubbed his hands over his face, took a deep breath. “I’m okay.” 

“I’m sure you can fix it,” Darkwing tried. “Pop out the dents, weld the pieces back together…” 

Launchpad shook his head. “She’s toast, D.W. I-I’m sorry I wrecked her so bad. It’s been a while since I crashed something so hard I couldn’t fix it.” He laughed, tightly and without smiling. “I’ll radio HQ to get us a ride out of here.” 

“Can’t we leg it the rest of the way?” 

A strange look passed over Launchpad’s face. He opened his beak, as if to speak, and then closed it and shook his head. He pulled his cap down to cover his forehead. “It’s too far,” he said finally. “Could take days. And I, uh--I kinda broke the GPS when we crashed.”

Drake huffed. “Marvelous.” He nudged Launchpad over with his foot and dropped to the ground next to him. “If you broke the GPS, how are you going to give HQ our coordinates?” 

“They’ll find us,” Launchpad replied. He unzipped his jacket, reached into his inner pocket, and pulled out a small purple communicator. He switched it on, listened to the crackle over the speaker for a few moments. He pressed the call button, silencing the noise. “Zero-Zero-D hailing from unknown coordinates. Thunder has struck.” He let go of the call button, waited. The radio crackled on. Launchpad tensed. “Repeat, this is Zero-Zero-D hailing, coordinates unknown, thunder has struck, please confirm contact.” 

Darkwing held his breath, listening to the static. 

“Zero-Zero-D, coordinates received,” a voice answered, muffled by the noise. “Expect company tonight.”

“Copy.” Launchpad switched the communicator off, dropped it into his lap. His jacket flapped open in the wind, and he crossed his arms over his chest and shivered.

“Zip that back up. You’ll freeze,” Drake chided. Launchpad complied and resumed his position. “Say… how did they get our coordinates when you didn’t give them any?” 

Launchpad shrugged. “Well, they… you’re just a contractor, D.W. I was an agent.” 

“So?” 

“I have an implant.” Launchpad pointed to his throat. “Here. If I ever have to disappear, I can deactivate it. And if I’m ever officially decommissioned they’ll take it out.” 

Drake’s jaw dropped. “You have a  _ tracking device  _ in your neck?” 

“Sure. Anyone who’s officially connected to the agency--on paper, I mean--has one.”  

“Why didn’t I know about this?” 

“I dunno. I didn’t think it was that important. It’s on a closed frequency. Untraceable by anyone but J.” 

Darkwing shivered, pulled his cape tight around himself. “I thought you didn’t work for them officially anymore.” 

Launchpad closed the communicator that lay in his lap and stashed it in one of his pockets. “When did I say that?”

“You didn’t, but I just thought…” Drake honestly wasn’t sure anymore. He’d thought that Launchpad told him everything, he supposed. That his partner--his best friend--was an open book. 

Launchpad stared downward. “Are you mad?” 

“No, I’m not mad. When have you known me to get mad over silly things like this?” Darkwing huffed.

Launchpad’s beak twitched. “All the time?”

“I am  _ not  _ mad all the time!” 

Launchpad laughed, and a warm sense of comfort washed over Drake. It was only then that he realized Launchpad hadn’t smiled since he lost control of the Thunderquack. He was struck by a second realization that he’d missed the ever-present grin. Then Launchpad’s gaze returned to the crushed cockpit that lay before them. His smile wavered. 

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” he said, his eyes sweeping over the scattered pieces. “After all the crashes I put her through, I can’t believe this is the last.” 

Drake nodded. He almost couldn’t believe it himself. “It must be hard… losing the thing you love most.” 

Launchpad turned. “Don’t be silly. The Thunderquack isn’t the thing I love most. I love flying, but there are more important things.”

“Well--” 

“Isn’t there stuff more important to you than fighting crime?” 

Darkwing felt his face growing warm, despite the freezing temperature around him.

“I mean, you have Gos. I know you love her more than anything.” 

“...I do,” Drake answered, after a moment. He took a breath, and decided to say what he was thinking before he chickened out. “If flying isn’t the thing you love most, what is?” 

“My family,” Launchpad said. 

Drake raised an eyebrow. “You told me you haven’t spoken to your parents in four years.”

“There’s more than one kind of family.” Launchpad met his eyes and smiled his usual, dopey smile. 

Drake’s chest did some decidedly  _ unusual  _ fluttering. He frowned down at himself, betrayed by the tell-tale heart. Darkwing Duck was many things, but he was not some infatuated schoolboy. He glanced back at Launchpad. His heart thumped. Well, perhaps he was. “L.P....?” 

“I hope it’s okay for me to call you guys family,” he blurted. “Because everything you’ve done for me and everything we’ve been through--this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And something came over Drake, something strange and powerfully compelling, that made him open his mouth and speak the truth: “Me too.” 

There was a pause, where they stared at each other, their breath hanging in clouds between them. 

And then there was nothing at all between them. 

The strangest thing was that it wasn’t strange at all. It felt, somehow, that this was the way things had been all along; that this kiss had always been one conversation away, and they’d finally had the right one. Drake hated himself, a little, for not having it sooner. 

Launchpad pulled back, looked down at Drake. He somehow grinned even brighter than before. A hundred-thousand-watt smile. “Gee, D.W., I was starting to think that was never gonna happen.” 

“Never going to--” Drake spluttered. “Launchpad, you buffoon!” He pulled the brim of his hat down to cover his face, which was slowly turning red.

“What’d I do?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure!” 

Launchpad snickered. “See? You  _ are  _ mad all the time.” 

“I’m not mad!” Drake snapped, pulling his hat down even lower. “And if I am it’s because you’re  _ driving  _ me mad!” 

“...Did you not like it?” 

Drake let his hat drop into the snow. “You really are a buffoon,” he groaned. He took a deep breath, grabbed the ends of Launchpad’s scarf, and pulled him in for another kiss. 

Just as their beaks touched, a thunderous noise filled Drake’s ears, coming from above. He turned, squinting into the silvery winter sky. A black helicopter, bearing the S.H.U.S.H. insignia was descending some twenty metres away. 

“It seems your company has arrived,” Drake said drily. He dropped Launchpad’s scarf and stood up, then offered his hand.

Launchpad pulled himself to his feet and looked out, again, at the wreckage. “I guess this is goodbye,” he said. He doffed his hat and held it over his heart for a moment. Then, he turned and began striding toward the helicopter. He looked over his shoulder. “Hey, D.W., what do you think about giving the next one a laser gun?” 

Drake jogged to catch up. “A laser gun?” 

“For dogfighting. You know, aerial combat.” 

“Do you know how to build that?”

Launchpad shrugged. “We’ll find out.” 

As they reached the helicopter, the door slid open. Agent Gryzzlikof stared out at them, scowling. “Alright, comrades, get in. Is time to go back to S.H.U.S.H. Central.” 

Darkwing leaned toward Gryzzlikof, glaring. “What about the F.O.W.L. operation?” 

“Fiendish Operation for World Larceny has been taken care of. By competent S.H.U.S.H. agents,” Gryzzlikof said. “Now, in.”

Darkwing complied, grumbling. “Launchpad and myself are plenty competent,  _ comrade.”  _

“What he means is, thanks for coming all this way to get us,” Launchpad said brightly. 

“I was in Moscow visiting Mamochka. You are on my way to work.” 

“Well, if you didn’t come to pick us up, we’d have frozen up here.” Launchpad nudged Drake in the ribs. 

“Thanks for the ride, Gryzz,” he muttered sourly. 

The helicopter lifted off, its rotor roaring through the air. 

Gryzzlikof shouted to be heard over it. “And comrades--making canoodling on the job is  _ strictly  _ against regulation.” 


End file.
